


not with a bang but a whimper

by highonbooks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highonbooks/pseuds/highonbooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Riddle muses about his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not with a bang but a whimper

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Aribh

It started out with a bang. The most obscure radical group to exist in the history of the Wizarding World started out with drunken teenagers yelling about rights they thought they deserved. I just plucked that plum while it was ripe.

I, originally, didn’t want to be a racist dictator. It was simpler than fixing the society problems, and more satisfying. I felt good. I was finally in the control of my destiny. In theory, nothing could scare me. And yet it did. I was afraid of death, of Dumbledore, of my followers, of myself. So I ripped the weakness away from me. I was still frightened, but now I could deny it to myself.

But I digress.

The Knights of Walpurgis, as they were originally called, were drinking together in the Three Broomsticks, and enjoying the warmth and the bartender’s daughter’s waist. I was the most sober, for I had no money to spend on things like that. Sweets, butterbeer and firewhiskey were things for my rich friends. I was there for the show, only. Avery was laughing so hard he had fallen from his chair, and Malfoy decided to speak:  
-Get up you big idiot! No wonder our world is going down like that; even the pureblooded are pathetic! Bollocks, the best of our year is a half-blood, no offense, Tom. – He half-yelled, winking by the end of his speech.  
I was offended, but Abraxas often said things like that, even when he didn’t mean it. Old habits die hard and all that nonsense. Human beings are made for adaptation.  
I smiled and said, mockingly:  
-None taken. But I wonder what if we took over the Ministry? And made the Mudbloods our slaves? Maybe even start a farm of them?  
There was a second of silence and they explode in laughter and cheers. Nott was clapping his hands and Black whistled like a low-born cabaret appreciator. But Abraxas had a serious gleam in his eyes, one that I always associated with fanatics.  
\- We could, you know. Take over the Ministry. – He spoke, gaining the eyes of every boy in the table. I had my eyes locked with his. I remember thinking: what is he doing?  
\- We have the power for it; - he went on, the fire in his eyes spreading for the other silly boys who were enchanted by the possibility of being great. – We have the money for it, we just need a leader. One that could charm anyone.

They looked at me.

From that, it was all a blur. They swore fealty, they kissed my knuckles, they drank some more, and on the other day they remembered it all. Plans were made, letters were sent and I felt like I had bitten a very large plum. One I would not be able to swallow.

I was right.

We were in our fourth year that night.

I killed a girl for this.

I killed my father and grandparents for this.

I became their leader. I had accepted their beliefs as mine.

But they were too weak to go through with the changes. Too accommodated. Once I took the leads, though, they followed.

After our seventh year, each one of them went marrying pureblooded girls, having kids and making more money. The cause was not forgotten, but they had lost their fire. That fanatic light was what had sent me to the edge and made me accept that madness Malfoy had created.

It was almost love. I needed that back.

So I studied the Dark Arts, my oldest friends, the shield in which I hid my fears.

I lost my name shortly after. It’s not like I ever liked anyway.

I came back, and they returned to me. I started to call them Death Eaters. They were the sons and daughters from my… friends, and they believed with all their hearts in me.

Then came the Order.

It was around that time that I started enjoying killing. I was indifferent until I saw my opponents fall and stay on the ground. I was alive and they were dead, and that was the best revenge ever.

I barely slept anymore. I ate once a day. My days were passing in a rush of killing, making plans, torturing and yelling at my servants. They were so infatuated with me that they didn’t care for my violent streak. Bella loved.

Bella.

Bellatrix Black. Bellatrix Lestrange.

If I believed in God, I’d say he had sent her to me. No one was as brave, as violent, as fanatic and as perfect as Bella. She made the Order scared and reckless. She was the daughter I never wanted to have, even if her love for me was not so innocent.

I had accepted that I could not love or, if I could, I would not find someone for me. Not even Bella could change that.

Then came Severus. I was so drunk with victory that I did not noticed anything wrong until I was ripped from my body by my own spell. I was so sure I could do no wrong that I accepted a fragment as truth and lost.

Eleven years of mad fury.

More four years of battles.

And then he killed me, with my own spell.

Harry Potter.

The bane of my existence, the mirror that both of us refused to accept. Did you know who I was? Did you know the orphan who desired a family so much that he transformed love in anger? Did you, perhaps, hear someone speaking about the handsome young man that just wanted a job and a new beginning? Did you blame the right people? The rich and pure, who were too scared to do what I did, and died for what they believed because it was someone else leading?

I don’t think so.


End file.
